


idealism isn't that bad

by royalwisteria



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2649344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalwisteria/pseuds/royalwisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>DEAR WORLD</em>, Clarke pens when ten for her school's time capsule. I<em>n ten years this will be read and the world should be a happy place where people smile ALL the time. All the time. World <strike>piece</strike> peace should exist because it is important because people should not die for no reason. I love you World, Clarke.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	idealism isn't that bad

_DEAR WORLD_ , Clarke pens when ten for her school's time capsule. I _n ten years this will be read and the world should be a happy place where people smile ALL the time. All the time. World ~~piece~~ peace should exist because it is important because people should not die for no reason. I love you World, Clarke._

When it is dug up ten years later, her mom laughs and laughs and laughs and frames it for Clarke's Wall of Hell. Raven laughs when she first saw it as well, when Clarke invited her to join her and her mom for Thanksgiving. They were graduates then and roommates in their first apartment. She also laughs at the photos of her in little kid bikinis with ice cream all over her face and stomach— she thought it was a good way to cool down at the time okay— and the short story she wrote about five girls who lived in an igloo because of evil parents. She’s also incredibly glad that it’s not possible to put a video in a frame because they taped her second grade play where she played a witch and it’s just not something Clarke enjoys watching the way her mom does and dad did.

When she turns twenty-five, Clarke brings Finn home and he studies the Wall of Hell with a serious expression and gives her a solemn smile when done. He doesn’t laugh, just tucks an arm around her waist. He’s her boss— kind of. Not really, full-on her boss, but he’s above her in the food chain of their non-profit organization. It’s for the environment, about fracking, and he took a shine to her the moment they were introduced.

They don’t last very long, though. They got together June, had one Christmas together and she broke up with him on New Year’s. She doesn’t care if it was cruel; he was going through her phone, reading her email, and she had to put a line somewhere.

She meets Octavia that night, dressed in a slinky black dress, hair in an elaborate braid twisting around her head and a diamond studded necklace. Clarke doesn’t know if they’re real or not, but it doesn’t really matter when she’s helping her sneak away from men who aren’t taking a no and when, four hours into the new year, Clarke’s rubbing her back as she pukes into her toilet. Raven and Octavia get along decently, which Clarke is glad of, because she likes the way Octavia stands tall and stares you in the eye until she gets what she wants. A girl after her own heart, Octavia is, and she helps Clarke pack all of Finn’s things and waits in the car as insurance against Finn obsession.

Octavia gets to see the Wall of Hell a couple years later and that’s because Clarke’s mom broke her TV somehow and demanded Clarke drop by to fix it. Not that she knows how, but she’s giving Octavia a ride home and she demands to meet Clarke’s mom. Octavia laughs her ass off and needs to lean against the wall for support. “This is the best thing I’ve seen in years,” she gasps between laughs. Clarke doesn’t totally mind the utter humiliation because Octavia doesn’t smile like that very often, with her boyfriend Lincoln off in the Middle East, fighting a war that neither believe in. “Glad my ten-year-old self can get it,” Clarke comments dryly and calls Comcast for her mom.

Raven and Clarke are still roommates when they turn twenty-eight together and throw an ‘Yay We’re Almost Thirty’ party. Octavia is invited; so is Miller, Jasper and Monty, Roma, and others. Finn is not invited. “Bring anyone you want,” Clarke tells her on the phone and she shows up, in another slinky dress, this one brown, with someone tall, curly-haired and with laugh lines that twinges her heart.

“My brother Bellamy,” Octavia says, grabbing a beer. “He’s thirty so I thought he should come.” She smiles and Bellamy grimaces and the smile he gives Clarke still has traces of that grimace. “Nice to meet you,” he says. “Thanks for looking out for O.” Clarke shakes her head, switches her beer to her other hand and shakes it. “It’s nothing, Octavia’s one my best friends.”

Clarke doesn’t get to talk to him much the rest of the night and she and Raven get terribly, terribly drunk. The next morning, as they squint at the backs of their respective boxes of cereal, Raven tells Clarke that she’s moving out. She’s expecting it, really; they’ve been roommates for too long now. They each have money to live on their own, but neither like living alone enough to have done it earlier. “I’ll miss you,” Clarke murmurs, spooning Fruit Loops into her mouth. It’s an indulgence for being almost-thirty. “I’ll miss you too,” Raven mutters and then puts her bowl in the sink and showers.

In two months Raven is gone and Clarke is on a mission to meet Bellamy in the most unobtrusive way she can. The moment she tells Octavia it’ll be another shiny medal for perfect attendance on the Wall of Shame. But. She wants to talk to him again. She doesn’t know why, but there’s something about those laugh lines, the easy confidence in which he holds himself, his _freckles_ —

She ends up calling Octavia who cackles. “I knew you’d like him,” she says proudly. “He asked for you last week, let me give you his number.”

This is almost moving too quickly for her, but it’s been three years since Finn and there have only been a string of flings, nothing longer than a couple weeks, since. This is the first time she’s thought that a relationship could be nice. Finn did sort of scar her, but that’s okay. It’ll be okay.

The first time they meet again is not at the coffee place they intended, but at the library when Clarke is picking up a book. He’s there too, a line of concentration in his forehead and a finger trailing along the spines of books. “Hey,” she says, nervous as all fucking hell but she can do this, she can she can she _can_. “Bellamy.” His finger traces up the spine to hook at the top as he looks at her and his eyebrows fucking shoot up like— what does that mean? Is it a good thing or a bad thing or— she’s overthinking this. Raven told her she overthinks with a sympathetic smile, because she does too, and Octavia had said that with pursed lips and a shake of her head.

“Hey,” Bellamy replies, eyebrows soon settling back where they belong, thank you very much, and a smile slowly spreading across his face. Her breath catches— she can see where the laugh lines come in, from the grace of that smile, from the ridiculous amount of charm that he exudes just by smiling. It’s not fair, not right, not good for her heart. “Here to pick up a book?” he asks, sliding the book off the shelf and she nods, holding up _My Antonia_. “Too cheap to buy my own copy,” she admits. “I’ve read it like ten times, I should just buy it.” Bellamy laughs and holds up a copy of _The Bell Jar_. “From Octavia’s reading list. I’m required to read a book every two weeks.” Clarke laughs and they check their books out and get dinner.

He doesn’t see the Wall of Hell for a long, long time. They date for six months before Clarke realizes that she doesn’t need a two bedroom apartment and moves into Bellamy’s apartment. He has a Queen sized bed, a nicer dining table, and she brings her TV because his is really shitty. Like really shitty. He gets defensive and says that he can watch everything on his computer or go down to the pub— which she laughs at because, like, “c’mon Bellamy, you hate pubs. You like those fancy bars with dim lighting and require nice clothes.”

On her thirtieth birthday, they have a romantic dinner for the two of them with a nice bottle of wine, have sex in at least four different places and wake up tangled in each other like usual. She doesn’t feel thirty, but that doesn’t really matter. Her mom calls when Bellamy is beating the eggs for omelets and she’s cutting up an onion to go in. She picks it up, cradling the phone between shoulder and ear as she rinses her hands. “Mom, what’s up?” she asks and there’s a deep, long-suffering sigh that causes her shoot a look at Bellamy just for reassurance. He’s standing there, looking at her so fucking tenderly that she wants to kiss him again, run hands over his cheeks, through his hair because she is so in love it’s dangerous. “I haven’t met him and I think you should bring him over for dinner.”

She says yes, because it’s her mom and she never tired of bringing Clarke up as a single parent when her dad died when Clarke was thirteen. Clarke knows it must have been hard, but her mom was tireless and loving and disciplinary and she owes her mom the world and more. Bellamy acquiesces easily with a kiss on the tip of her nose. He dresses up nicely for dinner, slacks, a button down t-shirt and oxfords. She’s in normal clothes but feels more nervous than ever before when introducing someone to her mom.

It goes well, because Bellamy is too charming for his own good, and they have a nice dinner of pot roast because it’s her moms best meal. He gets a tour of the house and he laughs at her childhood bedroom but his smile is fond at the Wall of Hell which— it’s the first time someone’s reacted like that. He curves an arm around her waist as he stares. He notices the letter, the big letters of DEAR WORLD, and tightens his grip. “You are saving it,” he whispers into the hair just above her ear as they look upon the wall. “You are.” He looks at the photos up of her family of three, before the accident, and comments that his dad looks like he was a wonderful father and they look exactly alike. Clarke knows he’s lying— her dad was brunette, hazel eyes, but maybe they have the same nose.

They go home that night and Clarke feels like crying without really knowing why. She curls into Bellamy as she falls asleep and Bellamy’s arms are around her when she falls asleep and when she wakes up. She’s too warm with the covers on top, but she doesn’t want to leave quite yet. Bellamy is asleep, long eyelashes closed and mouth slightly open as he breathes that sleep-breath, slow, deep and even. His laugh lines are deeper and he has more freckles than before; he’s edging closer to thirty-five with every day, but that’s still a few years away.

He saw her childhood moments, that picture with ice cream melted all over her body, and didn’t see it as a joke, a punchline of who she once was. It’s fine to laugh, Clarke thinks as she kisses him and he shifts. But he didn’t. Somehow that’s important. He didn’t stare solemnly at the wall in front of him, like Finn did, as though the truth about Clarke had come out. Bellamy had seen it for what it was: the foundation of Clarke’s strength.

She doesn’t like thinking about it like that and kisses him quickly again before crawling out of bed. She has work to get to, the weekend is over, and Bellamy needs to wake up in fifteen minutes. Clarke showers first, as is their habit and Bellamy stumbles into the shower as she steps out, giving her a lingering kiss until she pushes him into the shower with a laugh. He’s smiling at her, happy, and they’re both in love— it’s amazing, really, Clarke thinks as she buttons her blouse. Love’s sort of amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a lamebutt and i hope you enjoyed
> 
> crossposted on my tumblr [here](http://rosycheeked.tumblr.com/post/103166594625/idealism-isnt-that-bad-word-count-2008-dear)


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